


Road to nowhere

by Morcondil



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood, Family, Fourth Age, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minas Tirith, Teitho Fanfiction Contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 11:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17621726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morcondil/pseuds/Morcondil
Summary: Eldarion fears that he will never live up to his father’s great legacy. So: he sets off on a treasure hunt that will surely impress King Elessar and prove he can be a hero, too. But all of young Eldarion’s plans quickly go awry when he gets lost in the sewers of Minas Tirith.





	Road to nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Pranks" theme at Teitho.

****Dank walls closed in around Eldarion. The arched ceiling loomed above, just brushing the top of his hair. He was trapped; there was no escape from this place, and even if there were, he did not think he would be able to find it in these shadows.

Hissing echoes rang as water trickled down the rough stone faces of the cavern, accompanied by a strong odor that caused the little boy to curl his nose. From all sides came the staccato plinking of water droplets as they seeped through the rock overhead, stemming from the city that lay somewhere above him.

Fear tugged in his heart, and Eldarion struggled to beat down the panic. He had to be strong now; strong like Father and Faramir and all the other men whom people spoke of with such respect. He could not disappoint them with his weakness—his babyish terror. But it was hard to stay calm in the face of this all-encompassing blackness. It was all he could do to continue blindly through the passage he now found himself in.

Unshod feet slapped relentlessly on the cold stone floor as he quickened his pace.

The tunnel stretched ahead of him, and as the little boy’s eyes became used to the dim light, he could see that the narrow corridor continued on and on with no end in sight. Abruptly he turned around and was dismayed to see the same was true behind as in front of him. There was now no sign of the ladder he had used to enter the sewers, nor did he have any notion in which direction it might be.

Eldarion’s heart pounded wildly, and he felt that an enormous hammer was beating against his ribs. As he walked, the tunnel’s ceiling sloped closer and closer to his head, and feelings of claustrophobia welled in his gut. He whirled frantically and broke into a trot; his wide eyes searched for a way out.

Eldarion ran through the murky light as quickly as his short legs could take him. Sharp outcroppings on the floor reached out and tried to snatch his feet from beneath him, but he paid no heed. He was bent on leaving this place.

Somewhere along the way, the nail of his big toe was ripped from its bed. Pain registered in his mind only for a second before it was chased away by ever-rising fear. Any thought of making his father proud was gone; only terror remained.

His breath came in soft gasps, and coupled with the odd rustlings in the air and the infernal plink of water droplets, the sound sent the boy’s already over-stimulated senses into a frenzy. At last his body could take no more, and he was forced to a halt. He leaned against the grimy wall, panting. The world wheeled around his weak form, and Eldarion closed his eyes.

The little boy swallowed past the lump in his throat and attempted to catch his breath.

He was aware of a sharp, stabbing sensation in his foot, but the rush of adrenaline flowing through his small body alleviated the pain. But it was not enough to erase all the hurt.

Clenching his fists, the little boy tried to remember what Thoben had told him about the maze of tunnels and caverns that hid beneath the streets of Minas Tirith. He drew in a shaky breath. Last night, it had all sounded like a great adventure—a chance to prove that he could be brave even if he was small.

Father had always spoken so highly of Frodo Baggins and the other Hobbits. He could sit for hours, telling of their courage and determination. Eldarion had always felt a secret envy for him, this Frodo, and for his friends Samwise and Merry and Pippin. The admiration in his father’s voice whenever he spoke of them was evident, and the little boy knew he would do anything to hear Father talk of him in that way.

So when Thoben had mentioned a secret treasure hidden in the sewers beneath the city, he had been immediately intrigued. Here was a chance for Eldarion, son of King Elessar, to prove that he could amount to something—that he could have just as much courage as a Hobbit. Father would stare at him in astonishment and delight, and then that rare smile would come over his face. He would laugh and swing Eldarion up in his arms, telling him how proud he was—how lucky he was to have such a son.

But those had been last night’s dreams.

Now, with blasts of icy air curling around his ankles, it was not the heroic adventure he had imagined it to be. Plumes of white frost smoked out of his lips, barely discernible from the gray light surrounding him. His fingers and nose felt oddly numb, and his limbs trembled weakly, as if the chill of the caverns had stolen all the strength from his bones.

Shoring up his energy, he crept onward, and a draft of briny air wafted against his face. It carried with it a distinctive scent that reminded him of the fish markets in the lower levels of the city. It was enough to choke him, but still the boy continued on, remembering the riches that waited at the end of his journey. Thoben had promised a sight unlike any other, and Eldarion was going to find it, even if it took all day.

After a few more minutes of walking, he came to a fork in the tunnel. One branch sloped downward, twisting deeper into the heart of the underground maze; the other appeared to be much the same as the corridor Eldarion now stood in: straight and level, with rough walls and a low ceiling. Perplexed, the boy glanced between the two openings and struggled to remember which was the right one. Thoben had told him, he knew, but for the life of him he could not remember if the older boy had said to take the right or the left branch.

In an agony of indecision, he picked the tunnel on the left. He reasoned that whoever had hidden the treasure would have wanted it as far away from light of day as possible. Surely this black coiling passage was the correct one. Yes, of course it was. Now that he thought about it, Eldarion was sure Thoben had directed him to take the left-hand tunnel. This was the right way. He knew it.

Beneath his bare feet, the floor of the cavern sloped downward at a dangerous angle, and he was hard-pressed to retain his balance on the treacherous stone. Steeling himself, the little boy slowly edged forward into the clammy shadows. He only hoped that when he came to the treasure he would be able to see it in this thick, permeating darkness.

But as Eldarion went further into the depths of the cavern, his momentary assurance of safety began to fade. What if this was the wrong way after all? Should he turn back?

No. If he went home, he would have to face Thoben’s taunts and jeering insults. He would look a coward and a frightened baby, not a brave hero. Father would not be proud of him then.

Resolutely, the boy crammed away the resurfacing fear in his breast. It would do him no good here. Keeping his head high, the boy traveled further down the fetid tunnel. He reminded himself of why he was here, traipsing aimlessly in the dark sewers of Minas Tirith.

For Father; it was all for Father.

Nearly everything he had accomplished in his short life had been done with the intent of pleasing his sire. Ever since he could remember, the King had been a constant source of strength and stability for Eldarion, and also for the people of Gondor. Countless stories and songs had been written about him, all honoring Father’s legendary courage and valor. Wherever the King went, men and women whispered amongst themselves while their children goggled. Every night, his mother would kiss Eldarion’s forehead and tell him stories of his brave forefathers: Beren, Eärendil, Isildur. Just before he gave into slumber, the little boy always heard her whisper how like his father he was.

But Mother was wrong. He was nothing like his father. Father was smart and brave and wise, while Eldarion was pitifully small for his age and taken to illness. He could not run and play like the other boys, and his tiny arms lacked the strength to wield the wooden practice swords used on the training grounds. He had no qualities that would make Father proud to name him as a son.

That was why finding this treasure was so important. It was his chance to show his parent and Thoben and everyone else that he was good for more than intellectual pursuits. He could be like the men he studied in the history books, the ones who had changed the world for the better. Maybe finding a treasure in the city’s sewers was not anything significant, but it was a start. It could pave the way for greater things, should he let it.

Eldarion was lost in his thoughts, and he ceased to pay attention to the ground he walked on. As his eyes focused on things internal, they did not catch the gaping hole before his feet. With a frightening lurch, he stumbled and reeled in the air before crashing to the hard ground. The fall was accompanied by a loud thud and the crack of broken bones.

For a moment the little boy law sprawled across the cold stone, faint and light-headed. He struggled to regain his breath, and for a time that was the sole focus of his thoughts. His heart pounded harshly, and blinding flashes of light spun around his head.

When feeling at last returned to his numbed body, his first sensation was pain. The dull stabbing in his foot paled in comparison to the wild throbbing at his temple, yet in turn, these were nothing to the vicious, biting ache in his right forearm.

Cautiously, he brought his left hand to his temple and was horror-struck to find that his skin was coated in sticky dampness. He pulled his bruised body upright and leant against the craggy surface of the tunnel’s wall. Tears pricked at his eyelids as he cradled his right arm close to his body, knowing instinctively that it had been broken. At that moment a gust of bone-chilling rushed through the corridor, tearing away any bit of self-control he had been holding on to. Loud sobs burst from his chest, and the noise echoed in the empty space.

It was all wrong. None of this was supposed to happen. Heroes did not make foolish mistakes; they did not trip on uneven ground; they did not cry when they hurt themselves. This was all too humiliating. He was a baby—a stupid, stupid baby. What would Father think of this?

Worse yet was the image of Thoben’s face when he saw what a fool Eldarion had been. The little boy could already hear him, his ridiculing pity and sniggering contempt. From the very first, the older boy had been reluctant to tell him of what lay beneath the city streets. The tales of riches and glory had only been intended to entertain him, not inspire vision of grandeur. Eldarion, he had said, was too small and too young to find the treasure. He would get lost for sure in the maze-like caverns beneath the King’s House.

And in the end, Thoben had been proven right. Eldarion was never going to find the treasure—would never be able to hear his father speak of him as he did the Hobbits. He groaned. How would he ever be able to look Father in the eye after this? He had acted a simpleton and a faintheart. Thoben had tried to warn him, but he hadn’t listened.

Well, his foolishness had been rewarded.

Grinding his teeth against the pain, Eldarion struggled to his feet and braced his weight against the wall with his good left arm. Lances of sharp, agonizing torment shot down the length of his spine, and he barely managed to contain the cry that threatened to escape his chest. As he slid on foot in front of the other, the little boy did his best to ignore that harsh sensations, but the movement caused a guttural moan the wheeze through his lips, and he bit his cheek, fighting to keep sobs at bay. Even if no one could see him, it would never do to weep like a frightened babe. The only way he was going to get out of the sewers was on his own two legs; weeping would not help him reach that end.

The going was excruciatingly slow, as each step took all his concentration and sapped his wavering strength. He had already felt tired before all of this, and it wasn’t long until exhaustion won the fight. Even so, Eldarion was not willing to admit defeat, and he pushed himself onward through the fatigue even as his legs buckled beneath him.

Air whooshed around the boy’s ears as he fell to the ground; the bruises covering his body increased tenfold upon impact. Blood pooled in his mouth, for his sharp teeth had broken through the delicate skin of his cheek. The boy spat out the bitter taste, but to no avail. Blood dribbled out the corners of his lips and dripped messily to the stone under his cheek.

He knew he was too weak to pick himself off the floor again, so the boy didn’t even try. Instead, he curled into a tight ball around his convulsing stomach, allowing the pain to wash over him in steady, unbroken waves. Starbursts of light flashed behind his closed eyelids, and the thumping in his head was deafening. Every part of him was on fire.

Time passed. Eldarion lay in silence as the walls of the tunnel closed in about him. He edged his spine into a tighter curl, but it did nothing to ease his feeling of claustrophobia. The bitter cold seeped into his tense muscles, and he doubted that—even if he had the strength to rise—his numb body would allow him to walk. So he remained on the hard stone, drifting in and out of consciousness. Slowly, reality faded into a world of dreams and delirium…

 

_Warm sunlight streams down on Eldarion, bringing a flush to his pale, sickly cheeks. He tips back his face and savors the sun’s rays on his skin. Somewhere above him the chorus of a thousand sparrows rises and falls; their song wraps around him like a cloak; the melody envelopes him in its radiance. Joy courses through the boy’s veins, and he rushes through the airy halls of the King’s House in search of his parents._

_The house is strangely empty, void of the usual servants and guards. The boy wonders if the royal court has traveled north to Annúminas, as it often does when the heat of summer becomes unbearable. Perhaps he has been forgotten—left behind as a result of some oversight._

_But the trilling sound of her mother’s laugh chases away that worry. Eagerly, he follows the noise down the hallway, and his feet patter a light rhythm on the smooth floor. His search leads him to the Queen’s chambers, which overlook the vast expanse of the Pelennor Fields. He slows his pace outside the door, remembering his manners; Mother always wants him to be polite._

_‘Eldarion!’ His mother’s voice comes from inside the room. ‘Eldarion, where are you?’_

_He opens his mouth to answer, but at the same moment a blurred figure flashes past him and runs into the room to join Mother. The door swings on its hinges, carelessly forgotten. Startled, Eldarion peers in across the threshold, and the scene before him is at once wounding and perplexing._

_His mother stands before the open window, and her hair to swirls prettily about her face. Wrapped in her soft, tender arms is another little boy, a boy whose profile greatly resembles his own._

_The boy frowns, confounded by the image before him. Why is his mother embracing a child that is not her son?_

_But when then stranger turns, his face pierces his soul, and Eldarion understands with a sickening jolt._

_The other boy has the same dark hair and eyes as Eldarion, and the boy’s general countenance is very similar as well. But where the real Eldarion has pale skin and weak limbs, this other Eldarion has a brown, sun-hardened complexion and arms with defined muscle. The figure next to Mother is perfect; every blemish or flaw Eldarion sees in himself is erased._

_He is Eldarion as he should be—the son that should have been born to his parents._

_Tears blur the little boy’s eyes and he turns away, hating the idyllic scene he has just witnessed. He starts down the hall, only to find that the corridor is gone. In its place looms a dark chasm that swirls with mist and shadow. Faces float in the smoke as well; their mouths are cruel and mocking._

_‘I told you!’ Thoben crows. His brown eyes dance with glee. ‘You’re too weak for anything.’_

_The older boy’s face is replaced by Mother’s. Her likeness is grace and sorrowful. ‘Oh, Eldarion, why could you not be more like your father?’ she asks. ‘Why could you not be like him?’ Her soft words cut him to the quick, and he lets the tears spill over. They run down his cheeks, leaving behind patches of salt-grimy skin. Never before has he felt so worthless._

_‘Look at yourself.’ Eldarion glances up and finds he is staring into his own face, only bigger and stronger—perfect. A pitiless smirk twists the other-him’s lips into a snarl. ‘Whatever made you think you could be someone of value? You are nothing more than a coward—an embarrassment to your House.’_

_‘No!’ screams Eldarion. ‘That isn’t true.’ But his voice is nothing more than a soft swirl of air that quickly departs from his lips; no one can hear him._

_‘My son, why do you try in vain to prove yourself? There is nothing you can do to redeem yourself in my eyes.’ Father’s cold gray stare bores holes in his skin._

_Eldarion turns to flee, seeking escape from this torment. His eyes search for a way out, but he is frozen where he stands. His feet will not move; he is powerless to escape the horror of this place. All around him the mocking faces swarm and bobble—everyone he has ever known is here, laughing. He cannot block his ears from their insults; their jeers and taunts fill his mind. The faces form a ring that surrounds his spirit with hatred and cruel malice._

_‘Eldarion’ the voices whisper. ‘Eldarion…Eldarion…’_

_‘Eldarion.’ The slithering hisses become a spiteful chant. ‘Eldarion. Eldarion. Eldarion.’_

 

‘Eldarion!’

A strong hand grasped the little boy’s shoulder and shook his small frame. The same voice called his name again, louder this time.

Groggily, Eldarion cracked open his eyelids. For a brief moment, his father’s face filled his vision before he squeezed his eyes shut once more. He shrank away and whimpered in spite of himself. The boy could not help but to remember the evil guise his sire had taken in the dream.

The hand on his shoulder moved to rest on his forehead; the callused fingers smoothed over the boy’s sweat-dampened hair. ‘Eldarion, it’s all right. You are safe now.’

Somewhat reassured, the little boy opened his eyes again. Right away, he saw that his father’s face was no longer filled with hate; instead worry had taken its place. This was his real father, not the awful surrogate that had haunted his dream. Eldarion’s body relaxed against the large hands, and he loosed a sigh of relief.

‘Father?’ his weak voice was rough from disuse, and it scraped rawly in his throat.

‘Shush now, my son. Don’t try and speak; save your strength.’

With infinite gentleness, Father’s strong arms lifted him and gathered him close to his broad chest. But even though he had taken great care not to cause hurt, the action still sent a twinge of pain shooting down Eldarion’s broken arm.

‘I know it hurts, child,’ Father said as he started down the dim tunnel. His great boots thumped loudly on the hard rock—a steady rhythm that pounded harshly through the boy’s sore limb.

Eldarion nestled into the comforting embrace of his father’s arms and gazed up at him with a mixture of hero-worship and love. The ache in his bones had only increased when he’d been picked up, but it was very nearly the last thought in his mind as he watched his father’s face. He searched for any remnant of the frightening man from his dream, but of course there was none, only the firm lips and strong jaw of his own dear father, who loved him more than anything. It was Father that carried him, not some stranger. Father had saved him, just as he always did.

‘Father,’ Eldarion croaked, just wanting to say it.

His father glanced down in concern. ‘What is it, Eldarion?’

‘How’d you know where I was?’

Father’s countenance darkened, and his mouth became a grim line. ‘Thoben came to me with news that you had gone to the sewers. He said you had been missing for some hours.’

‘Oh.’

Eldarion was too exhausted to continue the conversation, so he contented himself with memorizing every detail of his parent’s face. Each line and scar, every pockmark and wrinkle was committed to memory. Before long, the little boy found himself seeing things in his sire that he had never seen before. He saw for the first time the strands of white that threaded Father’s dark hair, noticed the permanent frown-lines etched around his mouth and eyes. They gave him a nice, fatherly look, Eldarion decided, already half-asleep.

Father’s long legs made quick work of the distance before them, and he traversed in a matter of minutes what had taken Eldarion the better part of an hour to cross. The dank, musty smell of the subterranean tunnel was left behind, and the fresh, sweet air of an autumn evening replaced it. A warm breeze caressed the little boy’s dirty cheeks and ruffled his damp hair, yet instead of soothing him, the wind only stung the gash on his temple. He inhaled sharply, wincing at the sensation.

His father looked down and caught the pained expression on his son’s face. ‘It’s all right, Eldarion. Only a few more steps. Hold on, my child.’

Eldarion tried to answer, but his dry lips would not budge. The pain in his arm, which grew exponentially by the second, was too great for him to lend much concentration on speech. For the next few moments he focused his mind on breathing and nothing else. So intent was he on this task, the little boy did not notice being laid on the bed until a sharp sting bit into his temple.

His eyes, which had closed of their own accord, shot open. Father stood over him, gently dabbing at his bloodied face with a cool cloth; the herbed water eased the sting of his swollen eyes and cracked lips. Mild words came out of Father’s mouth in a low murmur, and the boy sank gratefully into his calm ministrations. But when probing fingers turned to the wound on his forehead, Eldarion couldn’t help squirming in protest.

‘Shush, Eldarion,’ Father said. ‘I need to clean this cut, else it will fester and become infected. Be still, please. I am almost done.’

With an impressive effort, the boy managed not to move while his father bathed and tended the wound. A soft cloth was pressed against his temple and bound in place, so as not to aggravate the hurt further. With that task done, Father’s hands next turned to Eldarion’s foot, where his toenail had been ripped from his skin. The nailbed still bled sluggishly, blood oozing from the open sore.

Father muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, though the words were too soft for Eldarion to be certain.

While Father cleaned his sore foot, the little boy concentrated on the ceiling above him. The dark wooden beams soared in familiar patterns over his head, and he studied the ornate carvings with vigorous attention. He memorized every detail just as he had learned his father’s features while being carried out of the sewers.

A yawn overtook him, and he blinked rapidly, finding it difficult to maintain consciousness. He shook the drowsiness off, and when he cleared the sleep from his eyes, the little boy was met by his mother’s beautiful face.

Her cheeks were pale, her mouth sad, and tears shimmered in her eyes as she took in Eldarion’s haggard appearance. The boy pulled himself into a sitting position and attempted a weak smile. He wanted to reassure Mother of his well being, but he couldn’t find the words. She hugged him tight while silent sobs wracked her frame.

A red flush of embarrassment heated his face as he allowed his mother to hold him. Really, he was too old for this, but he could not bring himself to extricate his body from her slender arms. As he relaxed against his mother’s soft form, her long fingers wove into his mussed hair and smoothed it as best they could. From his position buried in her chest, Eldarion could feel Mother’s lips against his head, could hear the rapid beats of her heart. He burrowed his face into her shoulder and moaned slightly.

At that sound, Mother pulled him away from her body. Her perceptive eyes searched his face. ‘Eldarion Telcontar!’ she exclaimed, shaking his shoulders for added emphasis. ‘What were you thinking? Going into the sewers by yourself?’ Her lips quivered with emotion.

Eldarion could see that she was in no mood for avoidance. His cheeks flushed even brighter, and he looked beseechingly towards the foot of the bed where Father was bandaging his toe. His other parent’s dark grey eyes were firm and unsympathetic; his father would not intervene this time. Seeing that he had no choice, Eldarion gathered the courage to tell his tale.

‘I wanted t’find the treasure,’ he explained. ‘’Twas supposed t’be an adventure, and I was gonna be a hero.’

His parents stared at him with blank expressions; Eldarion felt like bursting into tears again. Of course they could see it was pointless for him to try and be a valiant champion. They already knew he was worthless when it came to such things.

‘Eldarion,’ Father said haltingly. He frowned at Mother over the little boy’s head. ‘What treasure do you speak of?’

‘Th’one inside the sewers,’ the boy said. ‘Thoben told me ‘bout it, and I wanted t’bring it for you as a present, only I fell and hurt myself.’ He hung his head in shame. ‘M’sorry, Father. M’sorry I wasn’t brave and strong like you.’

His father looked at him for a long moment. Eldarion could see his jaw working, could feel the anger drifting from his blackened stare. The little boy’s heart plummeted. He had known Father would be disappointed in him, but he hadn’t expected this terrifying wrath. He began to pant a little as the weight of his sire’s eyes crushed him.

Father rose abruptly, muttering the vilest oath the boy had ever heard. He strode to the door and barked out angry demands of the guards stationed in the hallway. Apparently unsatisfied with the answers he received, he stomped out into the hall. The heavy door slammed with a great thud.

Eldarion looked back to Mother and fought to keep at bay the tears that once more threatened to surge in the corners of his eyes. He thought about apologizing, but the ferocity in her expression kept him silent. The little boy lowered his head and stared at his dirty fingers. His thoughts wheeled through his overtaxed mind, and emotions ran rampant in his breast. A painful mixture of fear and humiliation swarmed inside him. He tried to press it back, but found he could not. There was no way to be rid of this feeling.

Then all at once Eldarion was scooped up into his mother’s arms and set upon her lap. He was too big for such treatment, but astonishment prevented him from protest. He stared up at Mother in confusion and noticed that her anger, while still evident, had faded a bit. Love and pride had taken precedence, and her face shone.

‘Eldarion, my precious child,’ she whispered to his hair.

The soft lilt of her voice soothed Eldarion’s frayed nerves, and he settled back against Mother’s comforting frame. The steady beat of her pulse sounded in his ears, and he could feel the thrum of her heart under his fingertips as they rested against her bosom. A wonderful sense of ease and safety enveloped the little boy, and though his untreated broken arm still throbbed, he was able to ignore it; the happiness tempered pain.

While he did not understand what had made his parents so angry, it was a comfort to know they weren’t mad at him. Whatever Eldarion had or had not done, they still loved him. The little boy drew in a shuddering breath and leaned closer to the warmth of his mother’s breast. While her quiet voice murmured tender words in his ear, his touch with reality faded.

At some point the door opened, and he could feel Father settle onto the bed beside them. He rested a heavy hand on Eldarion’s back and rubbed small circles into the bruised muscles. The boy sighed, glad for this assurance of his father’s care.

‘I spoke with Tomben.’ Father’s low voice came from somewhere above his head. Eldarion stirred at the mention of Thoben’s father, but did not rouse.

Mother’s reply was tense. ‘What did he have to say in defense of his son?’

‘Thoben only intended to play a joke on Eldarion. He never expected our son to be foolish enough to believe him.’

Eldarion started in sleepy protest. He may be many things, but stupid was not one of them. All his tutors praised his intelligence. They often told his parents how his head for history and herblore was incomparable—one of the best they’d seen. Surely Thoben didn’t think he was an idiot! But even the perceived insult could not shake exhaustion from Eldarion’s bones.

Sleep began to take hold of the little boy’s fatigued mind, and he succumbed to it. His parents’ muttered conversation continued above him, but he was now too tired to pay close attention.

‘I want…please, Estel…not safe around…’

‘Not fair to Tomben…suitable punishment…best way.’

‘…don’t care…harm my son again.’

Eldarion stopped listening to the distant voices and focused on finding sleep. A velvety abyss opened before him; it welcomed with open arms. Comfortable warmth and security surrounded the boy, and he sank into it. Far off, stars glittered as they kept watch over his slumber.

The boy’s fading mind vaguely remembered the failed adventure, but he could not awaken the humiliation and regret he knew he should feel. For now he was content to stay in the King’s House with his parents. In the end, his escapade had proven to be nothing more than a juvenile prank, and his hopes of glory were for naught. Eldarion didn’t mind. He was too small to have carried the treasure out of the sewers, anyway. This, here and now, was better than untold riches; this was love and peace and compassion.

 _I can be a hero when I get older_ , he thought.


End file.
